Left 4 Left 4 Dead 2
by Benarikun
Summary: So, where do the characters go when you stop playing the game? An exploration into the characters in the Left 4 Dead world, and will explore several genres. Comedy underline, with character development. First fic, comments and critique appreciated.


Left 4 "Left 4 Dead 2"

There often comes a time in a gamer's life when they pack up the disk, put it back in its case, and then never return to it, or at least, not for a very long period of time. However, for the four survivors, life carried on, and now the player wasn't looking, things were about to get more interesting.

Chapter 1: A New Start

Francis fell to his knees, the presence that had been pressing on his mind for the last couple of hours suddenly abating in time honoured fashion, leaving a feeling of dizzying nausea. He struggled to his feet, noticing the others in similar states of discomfort. He grimaced.  
"I hate gamers." He muttered, extending a hand to Bill, heaving the old 'Nam veteran to his feet.

"Oh thanks, make me feel better why don't you." Zoey scowled, glaring over at the biker. Francis sighed and helped her up too.

"You know what I mean." He said casually, retrieving the automatic shotgun.

"The ones that get in our head, tell us what to do, when we aren't normally blindly running for our lives?" Asked Louis, panting slightly and looking a bit paler than usual. He leant heavily against a wall, the uzi clenched tightly in his fist.

"Yep, those guys." Bill said, lighting up. He always seemed to recover the fastest, though god knew why. The aroma of cigarette smoke filled the local air. A slimy, long appendage slapped against the shoulder of Bill's green jacket, and he begrudgingly slipped another cigarette into the tongue's curled grasp, lighting it.

"Thanks..." Wheezed the smoker from a next to a nearby dumpster. He sat on the lid, looking at the survivors with his one good eye, retracting his tongue, before taking a drag. The same eye lit up as he exhaled adding to the already noxious and potent cloud surrounding him.

"Don't mention it" Bill remarked, resting against the wall.

"I still don't get it." Zoey said, thinking about asking Bill for a smoke. "One minute, we're mortal enemies in a pitched battle of survivor vs. Zombie; the next, we're relaxing together. What gives?"

"The A.I. director. Smug bastard sitting up there, controlling us." The smoked sighed, but it was hard to tell from his normal hideous breathing. Zoey felt pity for the guy, and anger to the person who had decided to make him so deformed.

The survivors and the special infected knew each other well enough now, after almost a year of co-existence in the lulls between games, and they knew of their prison, or at least, could acknowledge that they were prisoners of a kind.

"I hate directors" Francis said. The biker opened one of his leather vest pockets and scrounged around inside, finding a folded and worn photograph. It was worse in these periods of rest, as they could delve into their past undisturbed.

"So, what idiot choices did your directors make then?" The smoker asked, sliding off the dumpster. He struggled for a second, removing the jacket he was wearing, hanging it on the side of the dumpster's lid and approached the survivors, a hand buried in his pocket, the other clutching the fag. The roiling cloud of green mist stayed behind, as if attached to the jacket itself. He smiled, joining the small circle of survivors.

"You didn't see? Oh god we must have had the worst pick of the day" Louis said.

"I would have handed their asses to them" Zoey added.

"No, same people as usual. They just were having an off day." Bill mentioned. They all looked at him as the Smoker nodded in agreement. "You guys have never noticed? I've known for a while now. Next time you're controlled, look above your head. There's a name in white lettering that just hangs there." Stunned silence followed.

"We see it all the time" the smoker input. Three pairs of eyes turned to him. "What? We assumed you knew." He raised his hands in mock defeat.

"How come the rest of you don't hang around anymore?" Louis asked the smoker.

"Well, boomer is generally being swarmed by all his fans, you know, the common infected, they just can't get enough of him." Smoker chuckled at this, a throaty laugh, that sounded like someone chewing gravel. "Hunter... well, you know him and the witch. He just won't leave her alone. You can see where he's had to duct tape himself back together. And Tank? Well... actually, that's why I came over to talk to you."

"Oh?" Asked the survivors simultaneously.

"Yeah. We've found a bit of a gem. Old, mansion like house, needs a bit of work, but in fairly good condition considering the "apocalypse" that's going on." He said. "Anyway, we found it, and the lads decided that we should use it as a home. Tank's made it his own personal project, and he got it watertight this morning."

"I... actually, I don't hate mansions!" Francis laughed.

"Well finally, something other than your vest that you **Don't **hate." Zoey laughed. The rest of the group joined in, as Francis glared at them.

"Well, come on guys. It's a bit of a trek" The smoker said, before coughing heavily, almost retching his tongue up onto the ground. "Damn it, why did they curse me with this bloody cough!" The smoker yelled up at the sky, shaking a fist at where he imagined the A.I. director was leering down from. Bill placed a hand on the taller man... infected's shoulder.

"Son, they day we find that out, will be the day we stop having to kill each other."

"Amen to that." Muttered Louis, straightening his tie a bit before following. Francis went to follow, before looking back. Zoey was looking down the alley way, shoulders slumped slightly. Francis made to move towards her, but held back, retracting his hand and following the others. Zoey waited until their footsteps were out of earshot.

"I wish... I wish we could get out of this hell..." She murmured, tears slowly running down her dirt dusted cheeks. "I'll never game again as long as I live if I could just escape, or stop the dying." She looked up at the heavens, her tears flowing freely. "If there really is a god, let it end here! Let us lead normal lives, and end the fighting here!" She cried.

If a god had heard, nothing was sent in reply. She lowered her eyes and slipped away in the direction the others had gone.

From a roof above the now deserted alleyway, there came a sigh. The hunter, hanging by a drainpipe, swung back up onto the roof of the building. His hoodie fell back from his face, revealing a good looking face, despite the grey, slightly rotten looking colouration, the sharpened, fang like teeth and the glowing red eyes. He leapt across the chasm of the alleyway to the next building, walking around behind an air vent.

Large, round yellow-red eyes met his in the dark. The witch had wrapped her clawed hands around her knees, curled up with her back against the air vent, shivering slightly in the cold evening air. The hunter was glad to see she was wearing the pads he'd gotten her. Now she wouldn't cut her knees open.

"So?" She said, her voice soft, and tinged with a hint of sadness and slight hesitation.

"I think it'll work. I hope it does anyway." The hunter sat down next to the witch, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. He smiled, a slightly creepy sight with the sharpened teeth, but comforting to the witch nevertheless.

"It will be... nice." The witch said, leaning in against the hunter's side.

"Yeah. Maybe we can work out who we are, or were, if we work together."

"Yes... maybe we will."

The hunter looked down, seeing a small smile flash for an instant across the witch's face. He looked skywards.

"And maybe some more answers..." He said dryly, before getting up. The witch stood and jumped onto his back, her claws wrapping around his chest. The hunter crouched and with a howl of glee, pounced across the rooftops back to the house.

All together under one roof. Definitely interesting.


End file.
